


I Was Here

by PaintTheWorldDifferent



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintTheWorldDifferent/pseuds/PaintTheWorldDifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's on an emotional bender, and Mickey knows he should be happy but he can't help but be worried about the late nights and hours Ian isn't home. Until they find a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey sat in the ratty armchair facing the door in his living room. Ian was officially two hours late, and Mickey was worried about him.

"Hey, Mick!" Ian said, bursting through the door. "Guess what I--"

"Where the fuck have you been, huh? Do you know how long I've been sitting on my ass waiting for you?" Mickey shouted, jumping up from the chair.

Ian didn't even flinch. "Awwh man, you didn't have to do that! I was just hanging out with some coworkers, and Josh said he was gonna go play chicken on the El!" Ian looked thoughtful. "Although, he was probably on something," Ian shrugged. "But hey, aren't we all?" he laughed heartily.

The worry in Mickey's chest worsened. Ian's been acting weird lately. One minute he's running around like Superman, like he's on top of the world and the next minute he's pissed. Now he's playing chicken on the El? On drugs? With his hooker coworkers?

"Oh that reminds me! Look what I found on the way to the Alibi!" Ian said, unzipping his jacket.

"The Alibi? Why the fuck were you going there? It's fucking closed, idiot!" Mickey said, not paying attention.

"Yeah but I just really wanted a drink, I thought maybe I could find where Kev kept the spare key and I could leave some money for drinks for me and Lucas--" Ian was talking a mile a minute but Mickey understood loud and clear.

"Lucas? You just said you were with Josh!" Mickey interrupted.

"Yeah well Josh called Lucas because he got off an hour after we did. Anyway, so I'm walking with Lucas and I trip over this box, and I'm about to call the police because who the fuck just leaves a box lying in the middle of the sidewalk, ya know? So I pull my phone out and I look down and here she is!" Ian said all in one breath before pulling out a bundle of black fur, that had two blue eyes staring out of it. Blue eyes that looked strikingly familiar.

"--so I didn't know what was going on but I told Lucas to hold on just a second," Ian was still talking a mile a minute. Once again Mickey found himself wondering what Ian had taken, or if someone spiked his drink. "And I was so out of it ya know so I look down and I go, 'Mickey?' because her eyes are just like yours and I would know I spend so much time thinking about--"

"IAN!" Mickey shouted, cutting him off. "You brought a fucking _cat_  home?" he asked sceptically.

"Yeah. Can't we keep her? She has no where else to go. And, after all," Ian looked at Mickey from under his lashes, "you keep me."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? No. Absolutely not," he said, walking towards the hallway .

"Oh please, Mickey!" Ian begged "I promise I'll--"

"You'll what, Ian?" Mickey whirled around. "You can barely take care of yourself and you expect to be able to take care of a fucking kitten?" he spat.

Ian looked like he'd been punched. He might as well have. His eyes darkened, and Mickey knew he fucked up.

"So that's how you feel?" Ian said lowly. "That's how you fucking feel?" he screamed, throwing the kitten at Mickey. It yelped, but Mickey caught it, shocked that Ian would harm something so defenseless like that. The cat dug its claws into his forearm but he ignored the pain. He needed to get the cat out of harms way and diffuse the situation before Ian did something stupid.

"Ian, it's not the stupid cat's fault," Mickey joked lightly, petting the cat gently to calm her down.

"Oh yeah? Who's fucking fault is it? Is it mine, the fucking nut job who can't control his emotions? Or is it yours, the boyfriend who's so fucking scared of being alone he won't get me help? What are you afraid of, Mickey? Huh? That I'll realize what a worthless piece of shit you are?"

Mickey took a step back, hands shaking where they continued to cradle the kitten. As if sensing his distress, she rubbed her nose against his chest.

"Get out," Mickey said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Ian said indignantly.

"I said get the fuck out!" Mickey said, holding the kitten with one hand and using the other to throw the remote control at Ian.

Ian ducked, effectively dodging the weapon and spinning on his heel, stepping out of the door and slamming it hard behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey regretted kicking Ian out immediately after the door slammed.

But he was a Milkovich, and he wasn’t gonna chase after him like some bitch.

He looked down at the fucking cat Ian had brought home. Mickey didn't even want the fucking thing, but Ian was spiraling into depression right before his eyes, and Mickey didn't want to do anything to speed up the process. Besides, maybe the cat could be used as a happiness trigger. Ian's been low a while; the kitten might make him feel better, faster.

So, he carried the kitten into the kitchen and set it down on the counter. "What do cats like to eat? Do you want some eggs?" Mickey asked, looking to the cat for guidance. The cat just blinked.

"I'll just give you some milk. Cats like that shit, right?" Mickey stood on his toes and grabbed a small bowl out of the cabinet and pouring some milk in it. He pushed it towards the cat. "There. Eat up. We don't waste food in this house, because we don't know when we'll get some again. Got it?" Mickey said sternly. The kitten continued to lap at the milk.

"You know, you guys drink shit weird. Like what the f-- I'm talking to a cat." Mickey said in realization, running a hand down his face. "I'm gonna go wait for Ian." Mickey grumbled, walking into the living room and sat in what he referred to as "the waiting chair". The chair faced the door, so he always sat in it while waiting for Ian to walk through it.

At some point, there was a crash in the kitchen, and Mickey ran in to see that the kitten had jumped off the counter, knocking over the empty bowl in the process. "Fucking cat." Mickey mumbled, putting the bowl in the sink before gingerly picking up the cat. "I guess I need to give you a name, huh?" He said, scratching behind one of it's ears. He looked closely at it. It appeared to be a girl, if cats work like humans when it comes to gender. She had black fur, with the tip of her tail being white, and white feet, like she was wearing boots, and a small white dot on her upper lip. "Like Marilyn Monroe." Mickey chuckled. "Maybe that's what I'll call you, huh? Monroe."

Mickey and Monroe settled in the waiting chair and waited for Ian to come back.

/\/

Mickey woke up five hours later with a pain in his neck and a ball of fur nestled in the crook under his chin. He blearily opened his eyes and looked around. "Shit, Ian!" Mickey cursed, before gently lifting Monroe off of his chest and setting her in the chair.

He checked the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom in an effort to see if maybe he just didn't hear Ian come in.

When the whole house turned out to be empty, Mickey started to worry. He bundled up in a coat and scarf and went to the door. "I'm going to look for your Daddy, I'll be right back." He called to Monroe, ignoring what it meant when he had grown attached quickly enough to speak to a _cat_ like a person.

"Ian!" Mickey shouted, walking under the El tracks. He’d felt like he's searched everywhere. The Alibi, Ian's workplace, the Gallagher house. . . Where else would he go?

Mickey continued calling his name, looking behind the pillars in case he passed out somewhere.

"Ian?" Mickey said, when he peered behind one of the columns and saw a bundle of red hair. "Fucking christ, Ian." Mickey said.

Ian was still bundled in his jacket, but it had snowed and Ian didn't seem to have moved. Mickey walked around Ian to the side where his face was. Ian's eyes didn't look up, just continued staring at Mickey's shins blankly. Mickey's heart stopped, thinking Ian had froze to death in the six hours he was out here. But when Ian blinked, he released a breath of relief.

"Fucking christ, Ian. . ." Mickey sighed, softer this time. He bent down and brushed some of the snow off Ian's head and body. "Come on. Let's get you home." Mickey urged, lifting Ian off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder, not for the first time. "You feel like you've gained some weight, Gallagher. Sitting on dick for a living isn't good for your health." Mickey said. He always tried to talk to Ian when he got like this, even though he knew Ian wouldn't respond. But he kept telling himself it helped, that wherever Ian's mind was right now, he still heard Mickey's voice. And maybe he had followed it home.

So, Mickey carried Ian home and dressed him in warm pajamas, and bundled him in his favorite blankets.

Mickey sat in the waiting chair with Monroe, waiting for a completely different reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, a few things.
> 
> 1) THERE IS MORE TO THE STORY. Last chapter some people were worried I was just gonna leave it there but ALAS I am not.
> 
> 2) I know you aren't supposed to give cats milk. I have two cats, one of which has a liter of kittens every year (ugh) so I know how to take care of a cat. But Mickey doesn't, so I tried to think of it as someone who has never had a pet before and doesn't know how to care for them.


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey spent the next few days doing what he does best: ignoring the issue.

"Hey, Ian. I made pancakes."

Silence.

"Alright, well I'll just leave them here on the night stand if you change your mind."

"Hey Ian, I taught Monroe to shit in the litter box, the little fucker's too much of a princess to use the toilet like a real man."

Silence.

Mickey just carried on. "Yeah I know its a girl, firecrotch. Trust me, I know what those look like. It’s an expression."

Mickey never gave up. At night he would lay down next to Ian and he would wrap his arms around his waist, stamping down the hurt that rose in his chest when Ian tried to wriggle away. Mickey just held him tighter.

More often than not, he would bring Monroe. Mickey thinks there must have been a reason witches and psychics and all that bullshit like cats because he swears Monroe knows something is wrong. She spends all day with Mickey, but come bed time she curls up on Ian's pillow, right next to his head.

Mickey doesn't know what goes on in Ian's head when he's like this because they never talk about it, but he hopes a part of Ian can sense that Monroe and Mickey are here to stay, and that they care about him. Monroe is very grateful that Ian saved her, even if it was just an emotion-fuelled high. As Mickey looks around his empty childhood home that lacks the tense environment his father used to bring, he thinks that he's grateful to Ian for similar reasons.

/\/

It had been six days since Mickey brought Ian home; six days and Ian hadn't moved from his side of the bed.

Monroe was perched on the microwave observing Mickey as he made pancakes that would probably go uneaten for the sixth day in a row.

"That smells good." A hoarse voice croaked from behind him.

"Shit!" Mickey yelped in surprise, dropping a slightly burnt and very hot pancake onto his foot. "Fuck!" He yelled, kicking it off.

Ian chuckled from the doorway, which quickly turned into a cough. Mickey grabbed a glass and quickly filled it with water before crossing the room to hand it to Ian.

"Thanks," he said after downing half of it.

Mickey was inspecting his food, which had turned pink. "You too." He scowled sarcastically. "Don't sneak up on me. Remember last time? I almost threw my coffee on you."

"I'm sorry." Ian said, looking down. And Mickey knew Ian wasn't talking about startling him.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Mickey said honestly. There wasn't a single part of him that blamed Ian for his condition, but there was plenty of blame to go around. From Ian's mother for carrying the gene, to baby Liam for being another stress factor in Ian's life, and even Mickey himself for not showing Ian how much he cares about him.

"I, uh, fixed pancakes." Mickey said. This was the hard part. The part where neither of them really wants to bring up Ian's condition but they both feel like they should.

Ian groaned.

"What?" Mickey asked, offended.

"I hate your pancakes." Ian teased.

"Fuck you, starve then." Mickey said grumpily. He picked up the plate of fresh pancakes and moved towards the garbage can.

"Hey," Ian said softly, grabbing his wrist. "I just so happen to be kind of starving, and even your pancakes sound appealing right now." He assured Mickey, taking the plate and setting it down on the table.

Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey softly, knowing he would only accept a silent thank you.

/Meow./ Monroe had jumped off the microwave and started twining her body around Mickey's legs.

Ian laughed and pulled away, looking down at Monroe, who was standing between them as if she were protecting Mickey.

"Fucking cock block." Mickey grumbled, picking her up. "You know I'm gay, right? You don't have a chance." He said, rubbing her softly.

"Hi, girl. Remember me?" Ian said, rubbing her head. She blinked and sniffed his hand before backing farther into Mickey's hold.

"I guess not. Why does she like you? You don't even like her." Ian said, pouting.

"I was here, I guess." Mickey said softly.

"Mickey?" Ian said tentatively.

"Mm?" Mickey said distractedly, rubbing Monroe's ears.

"Will you. . . Will you take me to the clinic?"

Mickey's eyes snapped up, a thousand protests on his tongue and even more insecurities in his heart. Seeing Ian's eyes on Monroe, and watching her regard him coolly, Mickey knew he couldn't deny Ian this. They've been through so much, and Mickey knew keeping Ian in a dark place like this wasn't healthy for either of them, and if Ian was ready to quit trying and let medications and doctors try for him, Mickey knew that meant Ian wouldn't survive the next downward spiral.

"Yeah. I'll call and make an appointment." He said, sighing. He handed Monroe to Ian carefully, before walking into the living room and picking up the phone.

Five minutes later, Mickey had scheduled an appointment at the clinic and walked heavy-hearted into his kitchen. He hung back, quietly watching as Ian rubbed his face against a purring Monroe. If losing Ian meant Ian could be like this all the time, Mickey thought he could make himself live with it.

"Tomorrow at 10 AM." Mickey said nonchalantly.

Ian's eyes snapped open, and for the first time since Mickey dragged Ian out of the club all those months ago, he saw a spark of hope in those brown eyes he immediately committed to memory.

/\/

Ian had started therapy two years ago, and they had almost immediately given him medication. Mickey's nails were bitten down to the beds, nervously waiting for the day when Ian would walk through the door after a therapy session and saying, "Yep. Therapist said you're too much stress for my unstable emotions to handle. _Adios_."

But it never came. It took the first year for Mickey to stop anxiously watching the clock every time Ian went out and nervously wait for him to drop to the floor and curl into a ball of despair.

They had just moved out of the Southside, not too far, just a bit further North in a small apartment. Mickey's childhood house held too many shitty memories.

Mickey got a job as a mechanic and stopped hurting people, unless some perv was hitting on Ian. He breathed down Ian's neck, making sure he took his medicine, and was sleeping the specific amount, and doing the exercises showed to them by the therapist. Mickey went in one time for a family session and hadn't left Ian alone since.

Ian stopped staying out late, and, upon encouragement from his therapist, stopped working at the strip club. Ian was happy, but not strung out on drugs happy. Just a normal happy.

Monroe had grown full sized and craved attention from the both of them, and would sulk under the bed for hours if she didn't get it.

She often sat on the kitchen counter meowing loudly when it was time for Ian to take his medicine, because that's usually the same time they fed her. Ian never missed a dose, between Monroe's reminders and Mickey breathing down his neck.

Despite Ian's weekly therapist visits, the three of them enjoyed life like most families. They had movie nights and comforted each other when they needed it, and no matter what happened during the day they all curled up in bed together at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks for reading :)


End file.
